


Indirect Evidence

by Macx



Series: Denuo [45]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should have been easy. A simple, almost routine collection of evidence.<br/>But things were never simple when they seemed to be.<br/>Nick Stokes limped into his home, grimacing as he put pressure onto his abused foot. Catherine had sent him home after the fiasco, telling him to rest and take his medication – just what the paramedic on site had done.<br/>So simple.<br/>So stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indirect Evidence

 

It should have been easy. A simple, almost routine collection of evidence.

But things were never simple when they seemed to be.

Nick Stokes limped into his home, grimacing as he put pressure onto his abused foot. Catherine had sent him home after the fiasco, telling him to rest and take his medication – just what the paramedic on site had done.

So simple.

So stupid.

Pushing the door shut, he dumped the keys and headed over to the kitchen. The ice box contained some chips and he put them into a zip-lock bag. Nick grabbed a bottle of cold juice, then he hobbled over to the couch. He sank onto it with a sigh, elevating the aching leg and putting the ice on his abused shoulder where he would most likely already have one spectacular bruise. He didn’t want to know what his face looked like; it felt bad already.

It had all started quite simply. There had been a call to an address outside of Vegas, an old house that looked like no one had lived here in ages. A body had been found, almost mummified because of the heat and dry air, and CSI was to run an evidence collection after the coroner was away with the body. It had been a solo case for Nick.

Brass had been there, as had been a few uniforms, but except for one they had been sent home after clearing the house of any possible danger. No one hiding in any cupboards and most of the place was completely mothballed. Of course, there was no physical presence required for someone to blow up a CSI.

Nick winced and sank deeper into the couch, his shoulder going from aching to pleasantly numb with the ice pack. His leg just kept on the dull pulse of complaint where muscles had been strained.

They had discovered what looked like a miniature drug lab in one room and Nick had taken photos to document the presence of the material. At the time he had suspected he would be here for a while. As he had started to go through the assorted beakers, he had noticed the smell.

Alarms had gone off and he remembered shouting at Brass to run, all the while running like hell himself. The next thing he knew he was flying, then colliding hard with what seemed to be either a wall or the floor. At the time he had lost his sense of direction. There was a loud roar, a tremor shaking the house, then it had rained debris.

For a long time, there had been nothing. Everything seemed muted.

And then there had been a light shining into his eyes, a voice asking him questions, and pain slowly seeping into his returning awareness. Nick had found himself lying flat on his back, gazing into the sky, feeling like the house had fallen on him.

Maybe it had.

The paramedics had rushed him off to the nearest hospital where the mild concussion was the worst of his injuries. There were bruises all over his body, his shoulder the most affected because he had crashed it into a wall, and a few cuts, but they were shallow.

Brass was there, too. Rattled, shaken, mildly bruised himself from the shockwave that had hit Nick head-on. No one knew what had happened yet, but Nick suspected it was a combination of the chemicals, prolonged exposure to sunlight and the long time they had had accumulated that had launched this flash. The house was still standing, but the lab was ruined. Some other CSI would now have the pleasure of sifting through the debris.

Catherine had been in an hour later as Nick prepared to go home. He had argued with the nurse and the doctor, and now he was on his way.

“Warrick’s having a go at the lab,” she had told him as Nick had dressed slowly.

“Okay,” had been the subdued answer.

Nick had felt so achy, he couldn’t even argue with his new boss that he could do the job, too. He knew he couldn’t. He felt like chewed up and hung out to dry.

Damn.

It was late and he was tired, but too wired to sleep. And the couch would probably kill him if he fell asleep on it. It was early in the morning and Grissom would most likely be back off shift soon. Nick wondered if Catherine had already told him, if Brass had informed him after dropping the injured CSI off, if anyone had brought the news to his lover – or if he had heard it through the grapevine.

Nick sighed and switched on the TV, taking a sip from his juice. The morning news were about to start and he decided to wait up until Grissom came home. Sinking back into the couch, trying to ignore his throbbing shoulder, he tried to unwind. The pain medication was helping, but it also made him woozy.

After a few minutes, he began to doze.

*

It was how Grissom found him when he came home, looking worried and slightly disturbed.

"Nick?" was the quiet question, filled with so many words he didn't say out loud.

"I'm fine. It's just a bruise, Gil," he reassured his lover.

 _Liar_ , he chided himself.

Well, it was a bruise, but a big, bad one all over his body.

Grissom's eyes tracked over the whiteness of the bandages covering a cut to his neck, another to his forehead, as if they were vital pieces of evidence that might contain valuable clues. He briefly stopped at the now melted ice pack still on the shoulder and Nick removed the sloshing bag, placing it onto the couch. His shoulder still ached.

"Gil, I'm fine," Nick insisted. “I got banged up, but there’s nothing broken.” He smiled at him, trying to bring across how minor this was.

"Catherine told me what happened." Those intense eyes were still on the covered cuts.

"So I guessed. Gil, please…"

Grissom looked at him and Nick gave him another reassuring smile. A strong hand touched one shin, running carefully up and down in a gesture that spoke both of the turmoil inside the older man and his need to touch his lover.

"I'm fine, Gil. I'm fine. It was just an accident."

"I know," was the quiet reply, the caress never stopping.

"How about breakfast?" Nick tried to distract him.

Grissom smiled faintly, still keeping up the gentle motion. Nick found it very relaxing and reassuring.

"Coffee and bagels?" he offered.

Nick tried to push himself up, but a raised finger let him stop.

"You stay. I'll get the coffee and food."

He smiled, dimples showing, and Grissom leaned forward, kissing him gently. The kiss deepened and Nick wove a hand into the short hair, nipping at the lower lip as Grissom finally let up. The blue eyes roamed over his battered face and tender fingers traced the outlines of the covered cuts. There had been a few stitches necessary to keep the skin together, but Nick had experience with that kind of injury. Not just from his college days and football, but also because of Nigel Crane. He had been thrown out of a window and it had busted him up quite well.

Smiles were exchanged, silent words each could understand, and Nick let his hand slide from the warmth of Grissom's neck.

"Coffee," Grissom mouthed and straightened.

"Coffee," Nick confirmed just as softly.

* * *

Captain Jim Brass knew when someone was looking at him more than was normal. He knew when those intense looks were directed at his back and he knew just who it was who gave him these looks. Ignoring the sensation as long as they were on the scene, watching both Sofia and Grissom work, he wondered how long it would take the criminalist to confront him. Knowing Grissom… it would simmer for a while until they were talking in a quiet room.

Well, normally they would.

Things had changed, though.

Nick was no longer on Grissom's team; Grissom had no official cause to ask Brass about the incident that had left Stokes bruised and battered, and Brass severely shaken.  
   
 

It took Grissom a whole shift. They found themselves in the break room, completely alone, nursing coffee, watching the few people passing by outside through the transparent glass walls. It was between shifts. Night was over, day had begun, but the shifts were just changing. Some stayed longer from graveyard, other came in early for days.

Blue eyes locked with Brass's and he held the silent gaze, then smiled wryly.

"I'm not telepathic, Gris, but I hear the question."

A tilt of the head was the answer, that perpetually curious look the man had about him. Brass almost laughed.

"You want to know about what happened at the scene, to Nick, and why."

There was a minute tightening around the eyes, but otherwise no reaction out of the ordinary. "I read the report. It was an explosion of left-over chemicals."

"Yep, and you saw Nick. You still wonder how it could have happened. It did, Grissom. We all have to deal with it."

The other man nodded. "That we do."

"I know it's hard to hear about this from other sources, that you weren't there, but believe me, even if you had been with us, it would still have happened," Brass went on. “This was beyond anyone’s control, even yours, Gil. You can’t protect the kid from everything.”

Grissom twitched half a frown.

"Go home, Gil," Brass only said. "Shift’s over. Take care of him."

With that he rose and left the break room, aware of stunned, almost shocked eyes following him. He didn't turn around, just smiled to himself. He liked to shock Grissom once in a while; it was hard to do on a normal day anyway. He had scored today, though.

Brass had known about them for a while now, months… over a year. He had watched the two men interact, had seen the moments between them that no one who didn't know would ever pick up.

He wasn't prejudiced.

Hell, it had done Grissom a world of good.

And Nick, too.

Who was he to object? Their work didn't suffer; if at all, they had become more balanced and stable.

That was good. Very, very good.

* * *

Grissom closed the door, keeping the morning heat outside, and walked into the silent house. He checked the living room and found the TV turned off, the blinds closed, and headed for the bedroom. Nick was there, laying on his back, asleep, and Grissom just stood there, looking at his lover of so many years now, feeling something inside of him shiver.

Brass knew.

Brass… knew and… accepted it?

He was too preoccupied with Nick’s close call to give it more thought, but he had to discuss it with the younger man soon.

Looking at his partner, the man he loved with his very soul, Grissom couldn’t think for a moment. He couldn’t think of the possibility that their relationship would be exposed to the police force. His old team, except for Sara, knew and had accepted it. But Brass… He had known the other man for so long now, but he had no clue how Brass would take this relationship.

Nick moved a little, drawing him out of his musings, and Gil smiled as he studied the smooth features, the lines of dimples visible even when Nick didn’t smile. The short-cropped, dark hair, the tanned skin, now marred by bruises and cuts from the accident. The strong body hidden underneath an old, gray shirt that substituted as a pajama top. Gil could almost feel the softness and strength radiating from his sleeping lover.

 _I love you. I won’t let anyone harm you if I can help it. Even if it is Brass. You’re worth every sacrifice, Nick. I love you._

Another shiver raced through him at the depth of the feeling. They had gone through so much bad stuff, this relationship had been tested several times, and they had only come out stronger. A lot stronger. They had friends and allies in the most unlikely positions.

They would survive.

Like Nick had survived this accident.

Grissom inhaled deeply, fighting his emotions on this subject. He had been told by Ecklie before Catherine had been able to reach him, and the news hadn’t come across any more positive because of it either. Ecklie had told him to call should he need anything.

Gil decided to take a shower first, scrubbing off the smell and grime of a night spent crawling around a basement to find evidence, and when he finally came out, he found Nick awake. Sleepy brown eyes looked at him and a slow smile lit up the squarish features.

“Hey,” he said, pushing himself up.

Grissom saw the suppressed wince and came over, sitting down next to him. Nick’s shoulder had one spectacular bruise, just like the mottled bruising over his ribs. The cuts were healing, but the bandages had to stay on.

He leaned down and kissed him wordlessly.

Nick answered the kiss, running a hand over the freshly scrubbed skin of his lover’s chest.

“Brass knows,” Grissom whispered, leaning over the prone man and looking into the open, trusting eyes.

“Figured as much,” was the reply. “He drove me home, knew where I lived.”

Grissom cocked one eyebrow. Nick kept up his gentle caress of the naked chest.

“You think it’ll be a problem?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” was the honest answer.

Liquid brown eyes regarded him for a long time, silent, contemplating. Then Nick pulled him down into a gentle, reassuring embrace. Grissom just let himself absorb the strength of his younger lover, wondering how their roles had once again been reversed. Nick was the hurting one, but he was sharing comfort.

“We can deal with it,” he whispered softly into Grissom’s ear.

Yes, they probably could, Gil agreed silently, resting his head against the warm shoulder. Nick’s good shoulder.

“Food?” came the hopeful murmur a second later.

He had to laugh a little. “Food,” he agreed and got up, smiling at the innocently looking man. “Can you make it to the shower on your own?”

A pout answered him. “I’m not an invalid, just banged up.”

Grissom smiled tenderly. “I know.” He got up and dressed, keeping an eye on Nick as he limped into the bathroom.  
   
 

Nick made an almost timely appearance twenty minutes later, freshly showered, short hair still damp, and he smiled widely, dimples showing, when he looked at the breakfast spread out on the table.

“We celebrating anything?” he teased.

Grissom took in the t-shirt and shorts, and smiled. “In a way. Sit down.”

Nick lowered himself carefully onto the chair and grinned like a little kid at the coffee, orange juice and freshly baked bagels.

They had breakfast in companionable silence and Nick was aware of those sharp blue eyes watching him, of Gil noticing each wince, each bruise, now and then lingering on the uncovered cut. The bandage had become wet, so he had peeled it off.

“I’m only on call today,” Grissom said after their second cup of coffee.

Nick smiled widely. “Cool. So, what’s the plan?”

A smirk. “You on the couch or in the bed.”

“I’m mobile!” Stokes protested.

Grissom was unimpressed. “You were hurt, the doctors told you to take it easy, and that’s what you’ll do – take it easy.”

Nick sighed.

“And take your medication.”

“Already did.”

“Good.”

And he did feel tired, no argument there. Well, it wouldn’t be so bad to just doze a little, Nick mused as he finished his juice. Doze and watch some TV, convince Gil to cuddle up… okay, that sounded like a plan.  
   
 

An hour later Nick had drifted off completely under the influence of the painkillers and his exhaustion, unable to stay awake.

Grissom watched him a little while, then turned down the volume of the TV and settled on the desk chair to do some work.

His thoughts wandered back to Jim. To the possibility that the man might destroy something that meant so much to him now. Gil’s lips became thin, white lines, then he almost physically shook himself. He shoved those dark thoughts aside. This was their weekend. Nothing would destroy his time with Nick as his lover recovered.

* * *

Brass knew the moment he met Gil Grissom again that the criminalist had been thinking about their last encounter, was still puzzling over it, and he realized that they needed to talk.

The chance came halfway through the night when the two men were at a crime scene together. There was no one around for miles, the site was lit up by strong halogen lamps, and only a squad car up on the road, lights flashing, spoke of a human presence aside from them – and a body. Well, it was a head, Brass mused. A skull. No coroner necessary to pronounce and until the coroner arrived, it was only them.

Grissom was crouching in the depression where the skull had been found, inspecting it.

“It’s been here for a while,” he announced, straightening. “Probably more than a year. No tissue or hair left, and so far no other bones. We’ll have to broaden the search radius and call in for some help.”

Brass nodded. “Will do.”

Ten minutes later he had completed the call for help and was waiting with his colleague for back-up. Gil’s eyes were still on the skull as if he expected it to crawl or bounce away.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Brass said conversationally.

Blue eyes, the color distorted by the strong lights and shadowed by the ball cap, gazed at him. There was a question in there and Brass smiled a little,

“You. Nick,” he only added.

Again, Grissom only looked at him, tilting his head.

“Gil, I’m fine with it, really. I don’t about what someone does outside the job and hell if he hasn’t been good for you.”

“Good for me?” Grissom echoed softly, his full attention on Brass.

“I don’t know when it started, but I estimate at least two years,” the captain went on. “You changed, you’re a lot more even-keeled and balanced, and I won’t even go into how it changed Nick.” He grinned a little. “I’d say you’re good for each other.”

Grissom briefly closed his eyes, inhaling softly. “Jim…”

“Hey, like I said, I don’t care or mind. I just want you to know I’m okay with it. CSIs are human. Even you, Gil. Probably.”

That got him a chastising frown, but Brass just met it head on.

"We've known each other for a very long time," the police captain went on, voice quiet, level, serious. "We've gone through a lot of shit, put up with each other's tempers and moods, and believe me, Gil, I'm not a shocked or as outraged as you might think."

“Thank you,” was finally the quiet reply.

Brass nodded. “Tell Nick. I know he's worrying.”

“I will.”

“Aside from your team, does anyone else know?”

There was a moment of silence as Grissom contemplated the question, maybe even the man who had asked it. “Not all of my team knows,” was the vague answer.

“Well, I doubt you’ll tell the new girl,” Brass agreed.

Grissom smiled. “Very doubtful. As for the others, Nick and I didn’t ‘come out’, in case you wonder. Those who asked got answers.”

“But not everyone asked.”

“Correct.”

“I see.” Brass knew the one person he would bet hadn’t asked, but was Grissom aware that Sara knew anyway? “With Ecklie being the Assistant Director now, you better keep a low profile, though.”

Grissom smiled that strange little smile of his. “We never did anything else.”

Yes, so much was true. Still, the smile was off and Brass didn’t know why. Ecklie was in a position to fire both Grissom, who he had never gotten along with, and Nick, who seemed to have a slightly better standing. But who was Jim Brass to understand the inner workings of Gil Grissom?

The arrival of back-up interrupted further conversation and soon the desert was brimming with life and lights, and cadets looking for bone fragments.

* * *

"He's okay with it?" Nick murmured and snuggled into the warm embrace of his lover.

"Apparently."

"'Kay."

Grissom smiled and brushed over the short hair. "'Kay?" he echoed.

Sleepy brown eyes looked at him and Nick smiled lazily. "Yeah."

Gil kissed him and Nick sighed full of content. Yes, maybe it was simply 'okay'. Nothing more, nothing less.


End file.
